


Inquiry, Empathy

by SailorFae



Category: The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV), 魔道祖师 | Módào Zǔshī (Cartoon)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Bonding With Your Soulmate's Mother, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Other, Post-Isolation, Post-Wei Wuxian's Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22895380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorFae/pseuds/SailorFae
Summary: The opening notes of Inquiry floated in the air, bidding any restless spirits that heard it to stay quiet, except for the one he searched for. Lan Zhan played gently, softly, eyes closed as he strummed. Wei Ying, he sent out, pouring his spiritual energy into the name. Wei Wuxian, are you listening? Are you there? Can you answer?Silence. Lan Zhan finished the song, placed his hands in his lap, and waited. No answer came. The chill morning air settled around him, carrying no promise of a presence with it. No answering notes on the guqin sounded. He bowed his head, the ache in his chest threatening to overwhelm him for a moment. Then he took a deep breath, and raised his hands again.... -Ying…What if, when Lan Wangji played Inquiry to try and find Wei Wuxian's spirit, someone else answered?
Relationships: Cangse Sanren & Wei Ying, Implied Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan & Lan Sizhui
Comments: 29
Kudos: 417





	Inquiry, Empathy

Gusu was quiet even in the height of the day but, in the hours before dawn, it was at its most tranquil. Lan Wangji had risen even earlier than usual to take advantage of this, taking the time only to tie his headband around his loose hair and tuck the blanket tighter around A-Yuan. Ever since he had returned from his isolation, the child had insisted on sleeping in the Jingshi. Even the suggestion of staying the night in the children’s quarters was enough to launch him into a loud, wailing tantrum. Only with the promise of quiet and obedience in everything else required of him—classes, mealtimes, and meditation—was he allowed to avoid that one rule, and sleep with his adopted father for the time being.

A-Yuan stirred as Lan Zhan brushed the hair from his face, but stayed asleep. He removed his hand, straightening his back and letting his son enjoy his rest. Quietly, he crossed the Jingshi and sat before his guqin, brushing his sleeves back before resting his fingers on the strings.

  
  


The opening notes of Inquiry floated in the air, bidding any restless spirits that heard it to stay quiet, except for the one he searched for. Lan Zhan played gently, softly, eyes closed as he strummed. _Wei Ying,_ he sent out, pouring his spiritual energy into the name. _Wei Wuxian, are you listening? Are you there? Can you answer?_

Silence. Lan Zhan finished the song, placed his hands in his lap, and waited. No answer came. The chill morning air settled around him, carrying no promise of a presence with it. No answering notes on the guqin sounded. He bowed his head, the ache in his chest threatening to overwhelm him for a moment. Then he took a deep breath, and raised his hands again.

_... -Ying…_

Lan Zhan paused, staring at the string that had moved without him plucking it, even now still—just barely—vibrating. It stilled, then sounded again.

_Wei_

_Ying_

_Wei Ying. Wei Ying. Wei Yin_ — Lan Wangji made himself cover the string as the notes became louder, a harsh twang sounding in the air. Another string plucked, but softer this time. _A-Ying._ The guqin stilled again, waiting. Lan Zhan resumed his playing position, keeping himself calm.

_What is your name?_ He played, uncertain if he wanted the response. If it had been Wei Ying —it _should_ have been Wei Ying, if any answer were to come at all— he would have at least felt more secure in interacting with the spirit, sure that he would be able to handle any heightened emotions from either of them. Other spirits, especially those who could answer to an Inquiry not meant for them, could be more temperamental— and powerful.

There was another pause, Lan Wangji’s question hanging in the air as he waited. A gentle breeze blew through the Jingshi, this time bringing a faint beat of spiritual energy with it that encircled the guqin and brought mellow tones that hung in the air.

_Cang_

_Se_

_San_

_Ren_

Lan Zhan stilled. He had only heard that name a handful of times— from his uncle, tugging at his beard as he groused about his former schoolmate; from Xiao Xingchen, in the aftermath of the Chang Clan massacre; and twice from Wei Wuxian himself, his eyes creasing to hide their pain as he spoke of his mother. If she was here, then—

_Where is Wei Ying?_ The guqin sounded, asking the same question Lan Zhan was about to inquire himself. His brow furrowed, unsure how to respond. He pushed his thoughts from his head, forcing his hands to move. _Wei Ying is dead,_ he answered, and stiffened as the energy in the room suddenly swarmed around him. The air, which had already been chilled, snapped cold and drove the air from his lungs. Lan Zhan felt the spirit wrap around him angrily, attempting to force its way into his mind, searching for the truth in his words.

Instantly, he drew power from his golden core, throwing up barriers around his mind and pushing the ghost away. “I am sorry.” He whispered, voice hoarse from disuse. The spirit’s touch withdrew from him for a moment, and Lan Zhan felt the anger and pain begin to dissipate, temperature returning to the air as it released some of the energy it had held. Whether it was his ability to stand up to its power, or his words, he didn’t know.

_No,_ said the strings, and Lan Wangji heard the heartbreak in the notes. _A-Ying is not… I would have felt…_ They fell quiet again, and Lan Zhan drew a sharp breath as the spiritual energy surged, bracing himself for another attempt to possess his mind. The onslaught did not come, but he did not relax as he felt the energy coalesce in front of him instead, drawing any remaining warmth to it once more.

He did, however, let his lips part in shock as the ghost took form, settling on the other side of the table and sitting as she must have in life. It was slow—except for vengeful ghosts, it was very hard for a spirit to even remember what it had once looked like—but Lan Zhan watched as first the outline, then the form, and finally the face of Cangse Sanren appeared before him. His heart ached again as he studied her, finding a painful familiarity in her features. Lan Zhan knew the thin, oval face; the large, grey eyes. Her hair was drawn back except for two strands that framed her face. There was a small mole just below her lower lip that brought the feeling of broken glass to Lan Zhan’s chest.

Cangse Sanren rested her hands on the guqin, taking care not to touch Lan Zhan’s. Hers were more delicate than her son’s, but he could see the thick calluses still on her palms, the years of sword use etched into her spirit. Lan Zhan lifted his hands from the guqin, allowing her to play. _Is that why you searched for his name?_ She asked, raising her head to meet his eyes. Lan Wangji nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. _My A-Ying,_ the strings sighed, and Cangse Sanren’s face broke for a moment, splitting in a grief that spread outwards from her, curling against the walls of the Jingshi and wrapping around Lan Zhan in a cold embrace.

In the other room, A-Yuan whined in his sleep, breaking the spell that had rooted Lan Zhan to his spot. He rose, striding across the Jingshi and returning to his son. A-Yuan’s face was twisted in a nightmare, his hands fisted in the blanket as he began to thrash. Lan Zhan sat on the edge of the bed, taking one of his son’s hands in one of his and pressing the back of the other against the child’s forehead. A-Yuan stilled, then slowly relaxed, his breathing slowing and evening out. Lan Zhan looked up as he felt the presence of Cangse Sanren approach, the ghostly form standing at the foot of the bed and watching them. “My—” Lan Wangji started, then changed his words. “Wei Ying’s son.”

Cangse Sanren’s face softened, and she took another step forward. A-Yuan stayed quiet in his sleep, and Lan Zhan allowed the spirit to kneel next to the bed, leaning over his son to study his face. A wave of love and protectiveness washed over them both from the spirit, and he watched with mild surprise as she reached out, managing to smooth A-Yuan’s hair with a ghostly hand. Cangse Sanren stood and turned to Lan Wangji, eyes shining in a silent promise to bring no more turmoil to the sleeping child.

They sat across from each other again, the guqin between them. Lan Wangji placed his hands on the strings, but paused as Cangse Sanren raised her hand. Her mouth opened, working soundlessly, then closed again. He saw her brows furrow, her expression one he had seen in her son many times, and watched as she wrangled more power into herself, her form becoming more solid. She shifted from her formal kneel, bringing one knee up and resting her elbow on it as she focused, then opened her mouth again.

“My son…” Her voice was dry, hoarser than Lan Zhan’s own. “My son must have been very accomplished, to have a friend and son in Gusu.” She finished, tilting her head towards Lan Wangji. He nodded, but couldn’t make himself answer. “How?” She pressed, shifting again. Cangse Sanren leaned forward, pressing her intangible hands on the table. _How did he die?_ The question battered against Lan Zhan, and he closed his eyes to steady himself. He wouldn’t allow his emotions to fuel Cangse Sanren, lest she become wrathful again.

“Wei Ying…” He croaked, then opened his eyes again, meeting a gray stare that was both too familiar and too strange. “He fell in battle.” Lan Zhan said, telling himself it wasn’t a lie. Not technically. Those gray eyes finally released his as Cangse Sanren looked down, fiddling with one of the strings on the guqin. She sighed quietly, settling back and stretching her legs in front of her. When she lifted her head again, she looked around the room, taking in their surroundings. “I remember studying here,” Cangse Sanren finally said, voice and face as unreadable as the most practiced of Lan members. That unreadability was gone in the next moment as she turned her face back towards him, hand coming up to rub the side of her nose. “I wasn’t very good. I cut off Lan Qiren's beard in his sleep once, for almost getting me and Jiang Fengmian killed on a night-hunt.”

The question she didn’t ask hung between them, and Lan Zhan inclined his head, troubled by how quickly he found himself relaxing around her. Nostalgia came over him. “Wei Ying did not stay for very long,” and pausing before adding. “He was a particular thorn in my uncle’s side.”

Cangse Sanren’s laugh was another thing she shared with her son. She kept it quiet so as to not wake her grandson, but her head tilted back in her mirth, hair falling from her shoulders. “I suppose old man Lan Qiren kicked him out as soon as he found out he was mine.”

“He mentioned you were very similar.” Lan Zhan answered, watching Cangse Sanren’s amused expression and finding a measure of amusement himself in someone his uncle’s age calling him an old man. Similar didn’t quite cut it, he thought, as he watched her rub the side of her nose again. She was studying him, Lan Zhan realized, as he waited for another question from her. Cangse Sanren’s eyes passed over his white robes—whiter than the traditional clothing of the Gusu Lan—then drifted in the direction of A-Yuan in the other room.

“You must have been very close to him,” she finally said, gaze flicking back towards him. Lan Zhan stayed silent, hands folded in his lap. Cangse Sanren moved to mirror his pose, and tilted her head. “Ask me what you want to know. I will answer—ah, child, there is no need to play Inquiry.” She smiled as Lan Zhan looked up, interrupted in his reach for the guqin. Surprise flooded him—how long had it been since someone had called him _child_ in that tone? Memories, unbidden, of another woman’s warm voice directed only to her sons, a comforting hand on his as he practiced calligraphy, rose to his mind, and Lan Wangji bit the inside of his lip as he pushed them away. Cangse Sanren’s smile widened as he stared at her, and she repeated herself. “I will answer truthfully.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji hummed, but could not make himself continue. He rested his hands on the guqin, but funneled no energy into the strings as he played. _Can you find his spirit?_ He asked, letting his instrument say the words he could not. He did not meet Cangse Sanren’s gaze, but heard the understanding in her voice as she answered.

“No.” The word cut through him, and he felt his shoulders drop. Cangse Sanren covered his hand with hers—a move that would result in Lan Zhan drawing away with distaste with almost anyone alive—and he glanced up with her. “I cannot feel his spiritual energy in the world of the dead,” she said quietly, giving his hand a squeeze that he could barely feel. “If you had not already told me he had passed, I would tell you he was alive and believe it.”

“Why?” Lan Wangji asked, feeling as though the word was strangling him. _His spirit must be somewhere,_ he told himself, surprised when Cangse Sanren nodded as if she had heard his thoughts. “I don’t know,” she answered, taking her hand away from his. “Perhaps A-Ying does not want to be found. Or...” Cangse Sanren trailed off, brows knitting together as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. Lan Wangji could still feel her grief brush against his mind, and lifted his hands as she reached for the guqin, her voice lost as she reigned her emotions in. _Is it possible he didn’t have regrets?_

 _I don’t know,_ Lan Zhan answered, hiding the tremble in his fingers as he stared down at the guqin. No one had even been able to recover Wei Ying’s body at the bottom of the cliff, despite multiple clans searching for his remains. He had heard, after leaving isolation, that Jin Guangshun and Jiang Wanyin had both launched searches for Wei Wuxian’s spirit to no avail. Lan Wangji had thought— hoped—that he would have been able to succeed where Yunmeng Jiang and Lanling Jin had failed. Hoped that he would have been able to draw Wei Ying’s spirit to him.

Cangse Sanren’s hand entering his vision interrupted his thoughts again, but he felt nothing as she tried to pat his hand in comfort. He released the strings his fingers had tightened on, regaining his composure. Lan Zhan looked up at her again, but Cangse Sanren was studying her hand, watching the tips of her fingers begin to fade. _Ah…_ the guqin played quietly, Cangse Sanren no longer reaching to pluck the strings. _I’m afraid my time here is ending._ She smiled sadly, turning back to Lan Wangji.

 _I was not meant to be able to answer in the first place,_ the strings sounded a sad melody, and Lan Zhan let her continue to play, allowing her her remaining time. _I should have been reborn by now, I know, but I could not make myself let go of my son. I have that regret, that I could not hold on to him longer._

Cangse Sanren reached forward again, and Lan Zhan let her take his hands, miming her holding them up despite the ghostly flesh fading. _I thank you for allowing me to see my grandchild,_ the strings said, and tears began to spill down the dead woman’s face, disappearing before they could fall from her cheeks. _And for… telling me what happened to A-Ying. I hope… that I can find him for you someday, my young Master Lan. I will st_ —

“Wait,” Lan Zhan blurted, suddenly unable to let her continue. The guqin stopped, and Cangse Sanren paused, too patient for the little amount of energy she had left. Lan Zhan’s hands passed through hers as he crossed his legs, resting the backs of his hands on his knees. It wasn’t a good idea, his brother would have chided him. The emotions could overwhelm him completely, could drive him from his own mind. Could force him to leave his son again, taking the little family A-Yuan had left and orphaning him for the third time in his short life. Still, he curled his fingers and lowered the barrier around his mind, just a little, giving silent permission for Cangse Sanren to seek what all spirits coveted. Recognition. Absolvance.

Empathy. Cangse Sanren’s eyes widened in surprise, and she tilted her head. Lan Wangji knew that thoughtful expression, had seen it plenty of times on another’s face before subjecting everyone around him to a loud joke or a stroke of genius. _Are you sure?_ The guqin finally played, and Lan Zhan nodded, closing his eyes.

After a few moments, he felt a gentle hand press against his chest, an equally soft brush touching his mind.

When Lan Wangji opened his eyes, he was outside, a baby in his arms.

  
  


He was now a quiet passenger in someone else’s body, someone else’s mind. The infant fussed, and a delicate-yet-callused hand smoothed the hair from its face, gentle voice cooing. “A-Ying,” Cangse Sanren’s voice sounded, no longer the hoarse and whispered croak Lan Zhan had heard in the Jingshi. It was warm and almost musical as she named her child, bouncing him in her arms until he gave his first laugh of many. “My Wei Ying.”

The next memory began with a tired sigh and the cleaning of blood off a sword. Two fierce corpses lay at her feet, finally quieted forever. A ruined farmhouse stood a little ways behind them, the smell of death coming from its broken doorway. Cangse Sanren’s arms no longer held her child, those same hands making quick work of preparing the corpses for cremating. Approaching steps had her sword in her hand again, held in front of her as she whirled on her heel to face the sound. A man—tall and thin, with long dark hair and wearing the colors of Yunmeng Jiang—stopped, holding the hand of a small child. A chord of surprise went through Lan Zhan as he realized that as much as Wei Ying took after his mother in looks and personality, he had the same thick brows, the same self-assured saunter in his walk as his father. “My love.” Wei Changze said quietly, releasing his son’s hand to let him run to Cangse Sanren and throw his arms around her leg. “A-Ying,” she said quietly, sheathing her sword and kneeling down. She took Wei Ying’s shoulders in her hands, then lifted one and wiped the tears from his face. “I told you to stay with your father.”

“He said,” Wei Ying whined, and sniffled. “That you were fighting, and—”

“I know,” Cangse Sanren interrupted, glancing at her husband and narrowing her eyes. Wei Changze averted his gaze, face turning sheepish. “But look! I didn’t get hurt!” She said, and Lan Zhan could feel her grin widely as she threw her arms out to prove her words. Cangse Sanren ruffled her son’s hair and stood, taking him into her arms and joining her husband. “Oof—A-Ying, you’re so heavy now! You’re going to be as big as Father soon!” Wei Ying gave a small smile, then giggled as his mother tickled his belly, tears already forgotten. Wei Changze wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “He was concerned,” he murmured, reaching up to fix his son’s hair. “That you needed me at your side. He was insisting I join you.”

“Wei Ying,” Cangse Sanren chastised, giving Wei Changze a forgiving smile. “I needed your Father at _your_ side. You need to stay with him when I go night-hunting, alright? Look at what you’ve made your father do, he’s said three whole sentences!” Wei Changze sighed through his nose at his wife’s teasing, but he smiled, nudging her away from the grisly scene behind them. Wei Ying pouted, and wrapped his arms around his mother’s neck as she went a ways down the path. She turned to wait for her husband, Wei Changze lighting the corpses and farmhouse with a practiced hand and silent spell before coming to join them.

Cangse Sanren showed Lan Zhan more of her memories, bouncing through time and brushing past moments of tension. Memories of Wei Ying holding a wooden sword and pretending to fight his father were followed by a memory of his first steps, his first fall, and the loud wails that followed, then the next had him around A-Yuan’s age, grasping his mother’s hand tightly as she held him on a horse, her husband leading it down a road. There was a brief scene of them at Lotus Pier, Jiang Fengmian speaking to a silent Wei Changze as a stoney Madame Yu and Cangse Sanren sat across from each other at a table, a young girl beside the Lady of Yunmeng Jiang and a redfaced infant in her arms. They drank tea silently, until Wei Ying fussed in Cangse Sanren’s arms and she offered him her knuckle to suck on. “Wei Ying,” Madame Yu said, tilting her head. “As in…?”

“Baby,” Cangse Sanren answered, flashing Madame Yu an easy smile as her son quieted. “It started as a joke, between me and A-Chan, before he was born. But then he was here, and we couldn’t come up with anything else.” She ignored the expression on Madame Yu’s face, cooing as Wei Ying woke from his nap. He gave a wide smile up at his mother, waving a hand in an attempt to catch her hair. “I see.” Madame Yu said shortly, shifting her own son to one arm as she reached for her tea.

“Are the two of you staying for long?” Jiang Fengmian asked, returning to the table and sitting between Cangse Sanren and his wife. Wei Changze settled next to Cangse Sanren, shoulder to shoulder, and let her answer for the both of them. “No,” Cangse Sanren said, smiling and ignoring the flash of relief over Madame Yu’s face. “There’s strange stories coming from the East, I suppose we’ll go there next.”

“With an infant?” Madame Yu asked, tilting her head in mock concern. “Of course with A-Ying,” Cangse Sanren said, lifting her chin as the scene began to fade. “I hope to raise him as I was, traveling and cultivating where he’s needed.”

She was stalling, they both knew. Staving off the inevitable, distracting Lan Zhan and herself with Wei Ying’s first spicy pepper, leaving his face beet red and his hands flailing as he learned to regret sneaking food from his father’s bowl. _He would learn to like those peppers, soon enough._ She showed Lan Zhan when she and her husband had decided to bring Wei Ying along on a night hunt, keeping him safe with wards and their swords, taking pride in the amazement on his face as he watched his parents bring peace to restless spirits. _Was he able to take up the sword? Who did he take after?_

He watched Wei Ying practice catching fish in his hands, standing shakily in the shallows of a river while his father stood knee deep, crouched and ready for a trout to wander too close to him. Cangse Sanren sat on the riverbank, cleaning her and her husband’s swords as she kept a protective eye over her family and cheering when Wei Changze struck and proudly held up a large fish. _He always had such a healthy appetite. We never had to worry about what we put before him, he would eat and only ask what it was that made it so tasty afterwards._

Too soon, the happy memories could not hold back the wave of grief, and a sense of finality hit Lan Zhan as the next memory began with the loud, relentless wails of a child. Cangse Sanren held Wei Ying tightly with one arm, shushing him to no avail as he buried his head into her chest, clutching the front of her robes. She held her sword in front of her with a bloody hand, taking cautious steps back from the scene that had unfolded before them.

Wei Changze lay on the ground, head turned towards his wife and child but his eyes unseeing. His body twitched, but not from his own accord.

Behind him, a creature took shape, its fur barely distinguishable from the night around it. A large muzzle, sticky with blood, lifted from the torso of Wei Changze, entrails dropping from its teeth as red eyes searched for more tender flesh.

Cangse Sanren finished the talisman she had drawn in the air with her sword, forcing the monstrous eyes to slide over her and her son as if they were no more than a tree or shrub. She turned on her heel, pressing Wei Ying’s face into her robes and muffling his cries as she fled from the demonic canine and the body of her husband.

“A-Ying,” she said, trying to calm her son once they had run far enough. Cangse Sanren wiped at his face and stroked his hair, keeping her own tears out of her voice. “A-Ying, A-Ying, please— _Wei Ying!”_ Her child startled, his full name making his cries stop, if only for a moment. He peered up at his mother, a new wail already bubbling in his throat. Cangse Sanren forced herself to smile, bouncing him on her hip. “You need to be quiet now. Understand?” Wei Ying nodded slowly, but fresh tears sprouted in his eyes as he saw the bite in his mother’s arm, saw the blood dripping from her fingers and into the dark forest soil. “I know, I know,” Cangse Sanren said quietly, hiding her torn and bloody sleeve behind her. “You’re getting much too heavy for me to carry like this, A-Ying,” she joked, readjusting her hold on him. “When did you get so heavy, child?”

A long, haunting howl rose from the trees behind them, and Cangse Sanren turned, smile faltering. She whipped around as a second, answering howl sounded on their other side, closer to the first. “Oh…” She said quietly, and Lan Zhan’s heart sank with hers. He watched as she started to run again, away from both the predators hunting them.

He watched as she stopped at a large, old tree, branches curling and twisting low to the ground. He watched as Cangse Sanren struggled up the trunk, pulling herself and her son to a branch high enough off the ground to be considered safe. He heard, as she did, the howls and hoarse barks coming closer each time they sounded. Lan Zhan watched as Cangse Sanren drew, in her own blood, a protective talisman on the front of her child’s robes and pressed a silver bell into his hands as he reached for her.

“Remember funny Uncle Jiang Fengmian?” She asked, forcing herself to smile at Wei Ying’s tearful face. “And the fun we had at Lotus Pier? Remember what it looked like?” Wei Ying nodded dumbly, small hands loosening on the bell as he reached for her a second time. Cangse Sanren pushed his hands away, forcing them closed around the bell before pointing to their left. “That’s south, A-Ying. Lotus Pier is south. Stay here until the sun rises, then go south. _South. Lotus Pier._ Do you understand?”

“Mama,” Wei Ying’s voice shook, almost lost in another howl as it cut through the night air. Cangse Sanren shook her head, silencing her son with a sharp look. “Wei Ying. _Do you understand?”_ Wei Ying nodded again, cheeks wet with fresh tears. “Good,” she said, relieved. “Keep that bell with you. Show it to anyone when you reach the land where the cattails grow on the riverbanks and lotuses float in the water. Tell them that your father—” Her voice faltered, but she forced herself to continue. “Your father, Wei Changze, is a disciple of Yunmeng Jiang. You must reach Lotus Pier. Understand?”

Wei Ying nodded a third time, clutching the bell to his chest. Cangse Sanren returned the nod, and made herself smile, once more. “Uncle Jiang Fengmian will take care of you,” she promised, unable to keep the tremors from her fingers as she reached up and smoothed Wei Ying’s hair. “I… I will always be with you, A-Ying. Keep us in your heart.”

With that, Cangse Sanren dropped from the tree, ignoring her son’s cries for her as she carved another protective talisman into the trunk with her sword. The howls had stopped a few minutes before, but the hair on the back of her neck prickled as she stepped out from under the branches of the tree, her child’s wails disappearing as she left the protective barrier. “Come here, you furry bastards,” she whispered, grasping the hilt of her sword in both hands. “I’m the only one left.” Her voice became louder as twin shadows stepped from the treeline, black heads towering over her. _You will not get my son too._ Cangse Sanren lifted her sword, following the path of the one with the bloodier muzzle with its point as they began to flank her. _“Come here and let me get revenge for my husband!”_

  
  


Lan Zhan drew a sharp, shuddering breath as he was suddenly returned to his own body. The air, which had previously been humid and thick with malice and the scent of blood was now cool and fresh, promising fresh snow and red cheeks. His hands were clenched in his robes, fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs as, just for a moment, he had felt his body being torn apart by ferocious, hungry teeth. 

In the end, Cangse Sanren had been the one to end the empathic link between them, throwing them back into the stark reality of the Jingshi. Lan Zhan could see just the barest hint of dawn peeking over the mountains.

She still sat in front of him, but she was no longer the proud Cangse Sanren from her prime. Her clothes, white robes bordered in black with a deep purple sash about her waist were the same, but they were torn, stained in her and her attacker’s blood. A long gash traveled down one arm, ending in a hand missing three fingers. Her left cheek was gone, exposing the bone underneath, and a row of teeth marks extended from her neck to her shoulder, disappearing under ripped cloth. Lan Zhan kept himself from flinching, meeting Cangse Sanren’s gray eyes as he shook off the last of her memories. Her eyes, at least, were the same.

 _Can I ask you, selfishly, for one more thing?_ She asked, words floating not in the air from the guqin, but in Lan Wangji’s mind. He nodded, watching her lips curve up in a smile. She crossed her legs, mirroring Lan Zhan once more and curling her remaining fingers to her palms. _Can you show me?_ She asked—no, begged, as she held Lan Zhan’s eyes with hers. _Who he became?_

Lan Wangji’s mind reeled. Empathy was used to allow a spirit to share their regrets, potentially to help them pass but mostly to answer questions of murder or betrayal. Never, in his knowledge, had someone used it to share _their_ memories with one of the dead. Cangse Sanren waited patiently, loose hair fluttering around her ruined face in a breeze Lan Zhan couldn’t feel. No more words came to his mind from her, and he knew that she would wait until he answered, or until she was no longer able to expend her energy to stay.

Finally, he nodded, watching as her shoulders relaxed in relief. But what could he show her? Lan Zhan filtered through his memories of Wei Ying, trying to find one—just one—he could show to the mournful mother without risking upsetting her more.

One memory bubbled to the surface, warming his heart for a moment before Lan Zhan reached out with a hand and his spiritual energy, lightly touching where Cangse Sanren’s hand should be. He felt it, for a moment, solidify, the calluses on her fingers and palm _real_ under his.

He showed her his first memory of Wei Ying. The way he, as a young teenager, had attempted to crawl over the walls of Cloud Recesses, bottles of Emperor’s Smile slung over his shoulder. He showed her their first fight, reliving the snide remarks and playful parries of his sword as he danced over the rooftops. Lan Zhan kept his own emotions hidden, not wanting to put the anger, confusion, and indignation he had felt as an emotional teenager onto Wei Ying’s mother as he shared how her son had proudly declared a loophole to the no alcohol rule, reclining in a tree just _outside_ of Cloud Recesses and tipping his head back to enjoy his wine. Lan Zhan shared, even, the lecture both boys had received from Lan Qiren and Wei Ying’s flippant response and attempt to shift the blame from him, his words quick and his gleeful smile quicker.

Lan Zhan drew them both out of his memories, opening his eyes. Tears slid down Cangse Sanren’s face again, but her smile was one of relief and mirth, and Lan Zhan could feel her love for her son wash over them both. She took a deep breath into lungs that could not hold air, her face regaining what it had lost in her last fight until Cangse Sanren was whole again, smiling at Lan Zhan so widely he imagined it would’ve hurt if she could feel it. “Thank you,” her voice, now so quiet he could barely hear it, trembled. “Thank you, for letting me see him.”

He nodded silently, and Cangse Sanren gave a hoarse laugh. “You are unlike the Gusu Lan members I knew in my life,” she said, covering her mouth with a broken hand as Lan Zhan looked up at her again. “And now, my young Master Lan, I know your name. _Lan Zhan.”_ She said it with the same lyrical tease her son had, and Lan Zhan felt his heart lurch. Cangse Sanren dropped her hand, turning her head as the morning bells chimed outside, breaking the stillness of the air. She turned towards him again, smile becoming sad. _I really am out of time now._ the guqin played, strings plucking themselves. Her form wavered, and Lan Zhan could see the walls and windows of the Jingshi behind her, sunlight breaking the illusion before him. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t, and placed his hands on the guqin. _Have your regrets been eased?_ He asked, playing quieter as he heard A-Yuan begin to stir in the next room.

Cangse Sanren studied his face, then nodded. Her robes were clear of blood once more, and Lan Zhan noticed the silver bell that had been affixed to the sash around her waist had returned. She raised her hands but, instead of reaching for the guqin, extended instead towards Lan Zhan’s face. He held himself still, but could not feel her fingers as she rested them on his cheeks, leaning forward until her eyes took up most of his vision. They stayed like that for a few moments, a grieving mother and mourning soulmate sharing in what they had left behind and lost, until Lan Zhan could no longer pick out the gray of her eyes from the gray of the lightening sky before dawn, nor the dark color of her hair from the shadows of the Jingshi.

He straightened his back, the last reminders of the spirit that had visited him fading in the morning. In the room next to him, A-Yuan gave a small whine, no doubt upset that his father was not next to him to ease him out of his morning delirium. He heard the child clamber out of bed, already starting to sniffle as he searched for the warmth of a parent to soothe him.

Lan Zhan brushed his sleeves aside, rested his fingers on the strings of his guqin, and began to play.

**Author's Note:**

> Oof, this was stuck in my head for a while after learning about how cool Cangse Sanren was. I really wish we could have seen more of her and her husband, either in the shows or the donghua. 
> 
> I decided to give Cangse Sanren and Wei Ying the same lip mole (based from the live action drama) because me and my mom have the same mole above our top lip! We know based from the shows that personality wise, she and her son were very similar so I figured I'd twist canon to make them look similar too.
> 
> I hope y'all liked this, if you made it this far! This is my first fic for this show (or in a long, long while in general) and the first one I decided to post on Ao3. I just wanted to explore the idea of Lan Zhan getting to speak with Cangse Sanren and how they would interact. I struggled with deciding whether or not Lan Wangji would be the type to do Empathy with a spirit, but I ended up figuring he wouldn't be willing to let his soulmate's mom just... go back to clinging on, even if it was to watch A-Yuan. 
> 
> I do have another fic idea rattling around my brain, but I'm holding off for now because it's Jiang Cheng-centric, right after Wei Wuxian's fall. For now, good day and good night!
> 
> Edit: Thank you everyone for the kind comments, kudos, and bookmarks! I'm honestly surprised so many people enjoyed it as much as I did, and y'alls support made my day! <3


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